Heir to the Opera
by WittyFae
Summary: PHANTOMBOOKVERSE using elements mostly from Susan Kay's Phantom. It's been years since Erik found himself alone again, and promised to shut his heart to all love. But he soon learns that love has many faces, ones he couldn't have forseen. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_AN: A few warnings. This is a more character driven piece than a plot driven piece. Also, this is ANGSTY. I'll say it again, ANGSTY. These characters get very "fraught" and wonder "WHY WHY WHY?!!?", a lot. That's not to say it badly written angst, but it's angst non-the-less. So if that deters you please find something else to read. Other than that, enjoy! The Author(ess?)_

_Heir to the Opera_

Chapter 1

It was wet. The rain seemed to come down sideways in little stinging drops. Erik pulled his hat closer over his eyes so that he could just barely see where he was going. He was anxious to get home. If it wasn't for bi-monthly trips to get food, he'd never leave his house all. He hadn't really left it in ages. He didn't even go to the opera anymore, not even to scare the ballet girls which had once been his favorite pastime - aside from music of course.

The streets of Paris were dimly lit as he took back alley ways to the opera. Anyone else would have been in danger from robbers and murderers but not Erik. Without saying a word his form broadcast waves of warning to all those who had any ideas of attacking him. He was quite safe until he rounded a corner stumbled forward, tripping on something.

Raising his hat from his eyes he looked down and was surprised to see a small boy looking at a broken violin and sobbing. "You broke it! You broke it monsieur! My violin it's broken!" He looked up at Erik his eyes filled with tears.

He shouldn't have cared, he hadn't cared about anything in ages, but the look in the boy's eyes thawed his cold heart slightly. Such passion over a violin, it touched him.

The boy was now looking at the shattered instrument, trying to piece it together, but it was no use. Even if he could have figured out how the pieces went there was nothing to hold them together with. He looked up at Erik again with a lost expression. Erik's heart actually began to beat again.

The boy was dirty, obviously a waif and no home to speak of. But despite unkempt appearance Erik could see he was a beautiful child under the dirt. He had dark curly hair, and large green eyes which shimmered with his tears. He was very very thin from lack of food, and his cheeks were gaunt, but had probably once been full and rosy; or at least they could be.

Slipping his hand under his cloak he pulled out some coins from his purse. Handing them to the boy he said "Here, don't cry anymore. Take this money and buy some food and some clothes."

The boy's eyes widened, "oh Monsieur, truly?" He got up and took the money in his palm, staring at it with wonder, as if they were the only pieces he'd ever seen.

Erik nodded hurriedly, "Yes, yes, take them and use them." The boy looked at him with glee and without warning flew at Erik and wrapped his little arms around Erik's body in a hug.

Taken aback, Erik simply stood there stiffly while this child hugged him in happiness. He then moved away and shooed him off. "There, there, go now, and find some place to sleep."

"Yes Monsieur! I will, God bless you!" Taking his shattered violin he ran off down the streets into the night.

With a slight smile Erik turned towards the opera house. He hadn't smiled in ages, but giving that boy money had genuinely made him feel good. "At least there'll be one less miserable person in Paris tonight." He thought.

Upon arriving home Erik put his hat and cloak by the fire to dry. Reaching to his belt he felt for his purse but found nothing. He looked down and saw an empty space where it should have been. He looked all around him, retraced some steps, even shook out his cloak but still found nothing. The purse was gone.

Confused he thought back to when he'd last had it. He'd had it when he'd given the boy money for the violin, perhaps it had fallen off afterwards on his way to the opera.

Suddenly it came to him in a flash. In his mind he saw the boy hugging him tightly and he realized full well what had happened.

"That little bastard stole my purse!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The next night Erik found himself on the same route he'd walked the night before. The incident of his purse bothered him so much he just could not let it go.

_Him_, fooled by a boy!

It all seemed clear to him now. The little thief probably did it every night. He probably had a whole room full of violins and always waited for strangers to come by and break them. Oh he was a crafty little devil but he wouldn't escape him now. Without rain it was much easier to see in the darkness, and Erik scanned the streets for any sign of the boy.

Finally, he spotted him! He was on the steps of a building with a blanket tied around him and a bandage over his eyes.

"Pretending to be blind eh?" Erik thought. This boy was good, but he'd see how good he really was once he got his hands on him.

Stealthily Erik crept up to the steps of the building to where the boy sat shivering with a small mug in his hand. It was already filled with coins and francs, evidently it had been a good night.

The boy cocked his head to one side, sensing Erik's presence. "Excuse me monsieur, spare a little for a poor blind orphan." He pitifully extended the mug.

"I believe it is you who owe me money, boy." Erik said, and with that he ripped the boy's bandage from his eyes.

The boy's eyes widened in fear as he recognized his previous night's mark. He dropped the mug and bolted up, but before he could run Erik had him by the back of his collar. "You're not going anywhere!"

He took the trembling boy to the street and held him by his shirt. It was obvious he wasn't used to being caught, and was at that moment thinking that any man who could catch him was dangerous. Erik decided to take advantage of this fear to solve this matter quickly.

"Did you take my purse? And don't' lie to me!" He said with a slight shake of his arm.

"Y-yes monsieur, I t-took it."

"Give it back" said Erik calmly.

The boy reached into the folds of his blanket, pulled out the black velvet purse and handed it to Erik with a trembling hand. Letting go of the boy, Erik took his purse.

"Don't move." He said authoritatively. The boy stood rooted to the spot as Erik counted the money. "Well, it's all here." He concluded, sheathing the purse in his cloak. "Now tell me, do you always lay in wait for people to break your violins?"

"No monsieur, I was going to beg you for money for my starving sister. You breaking my violin was just a happy coincidence." He joked nervously, attempting to be friendly with this interrogator in hopes it would give him a lighter sentence.

The audacity of this boy. "And let me guess you have no sister?" ventured Erik.

The boy shook his head, "No, but that was my only violin. You really did break it."

"Now tell me how it is you can afford an expensive violin? Did you steal that too?"

"No." he swore, "No I found it."

"Found it?" Erik replied skeptically, "Where?"

"I was looking through the garbage of the opera house for something I could sell and I found it there." The boy confessed eagerly, "It was really beautiful and I couldn't understand why someone would throw it out. I just couldn't sell it. I didn't know how to play, but I wanted to keep it for myself. I thought to teach myself so I could play it on the street corner for money."

Erik stared down at the penitent figure silently. He couldn't believe it, the boy was telling the truth. He knew because he had been the one to throw the violin out.

He had forgotten until now. After Christine had left, looking at that violin had brought back painful memories. After all, he had used it to lure her to him. After a particularly morose night he'd thrown the offending object out of his sight on the rue scribe side to the opera.

Erik made sure his expression did not change, "You meant to teach yourself how to play the violin?" he continued passively, not betraying his small epiphany.

The boy bowed his head, "Yes."

"You do know that that violin is one of the most difficult instruments to play, boy?"

"I knew it would be hard, but I thought if I just kept at it, I could learn enough to play simple tunes for coins." The boy had stopped trembling and was now just sniffling softly.

Erik's anger had also faded. He saw a part of himself in the boy and had to say shared some sympathy. He knew what it was like to be homeless; no food, the clothes on your back dirty, all alone. He'd stolen many purses in his day.

"Tell me boy, what's your name?" his tone much softer now.

The boy hesitated. Erik scared him, but if he didn't tell his name he was afraid he might hurt him. "It's David monsieur." He said at last.

"And you have no place to sleep do you?"

"No monsieur, I sleep wherever I can find shelter."

"What if I said I could give you a warm place to sleep and food to eat?"

The boy, David, looked at him warily; Erik could see the tug of war taking place inside him. The boy didn't trust him, that much was obvious, but the promise of food and shelter was too tempting and sorely needed.

"I assure you, you need not worry. I won't hurt you."

"What do you want in return?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do I have to do anything for you?"

"What?" Erik replied, not quite sure what he meant but certain he didn't like it.

"Do I have to do any _favors_ for you?" said the David with uncomfortable emphasis.

Erik was completely aghast at the boy's suggestion and made it known. "OF COURSE NOT!" he bellowed, "I'm appalled you would think such a thing! I have no other interest in you than to see you safe and off these dirty streets, where on earth would you get such a foul notion as that?"

David looked at him with hard eyes, "I've never actually taken part but other boys on the streets have told me about those kinds of people; who take you in and give you shelter only to demand things. It's not the boys who are to blame Monsieur; they do it to stay alive."

Erik was shocked. "I had no idea." He knelt in front of the boy. "I promise you, I have nothing of that in mind for you."

The boy looked relieved but still looked rather puzzled, "Why?" he asked Erik, "Why do anything for me? I stole your purse."

Erik paused and thought on the matter himself. Why should he suddenly care whether some orphan roamed the streets or not? It was not like him to look out for the best interests of others. A lifetime of living under the heel of mankind had hardened him against goodwill towards his fellow man.

But he could not deny that in the few minutes he had been talking to this urchin he had felt something close to comfortable. Although mostly unpleasant in topic, it had felt good to talk to another living soul. In the end he concluded, did he really need a reason? He was the infamous opera ghost and if he chose to bestow favor on someone it was his whim and his business. And that was the end of it.

"Perhaps it's because you remind me of someone from long ago."

After studying the grim caped figure for a minute, the boy nodded with a resigned, "All right then, I'll go. I have nothing to lose."

Erik found the young boy's fatalistic nature disturbing. What little time he had already spent on the streets had evidently taken their toll. But there perhaps still hope.

He pointed in the direction of the opera "Come now, David is it? Come David, I'll show you to your new home."

"Exactly where is that monsieur?" asked David following him.

"Someplace you've been before, in a way."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

David's face had been full of wonderment as Erik had led him through the side door of the opera, down the passages, and across the lake to his home.

"You live here?" asked the boy incredulously.

"Yes, I built that house over there all by myself."

"I never knew all this was down here. It's so big!" David said loudly, his echo bouncing off the cavernous walls. He smiled with glee and hollered again to raise another echo.

Erik smiled inwardly at the boy's simple wonderment and the elusive warm feeling filled him again. When he'd seen that poor boy alone with no place to go, his heart had poked through its icy prison. And when he had heard him speak so frankly about atrocities he might some day be at the mercy of, it had finally broken through. It was truly a small miracle that his age he was capable of feeling anything.

Memories of long ago had filled his mind as he rowed. The boy was lucky he wasn't a monster. Erik's own life alone had been a long struggle from day one owing to his hideous deformity. But from the sounds of it, perhaps David's good looks could prove more dangerous for him in the dark corners of Paris. He couldn't be more than ten years old and Erik wondered how long he'd been alone.

The boat touched the other side and as soon as it hit sand David bounded out of the boat like a shot and ran to the door. Such energy, Erik thought. Leaping out of the boat himself, he opened the door to let David in. David ran into the living room and stopped short. He turned in slow circles and stared at everything, his eyes greedily devouring every fine luxury.

Erik found himself standing in the doorway, his arms folded and slightly amused. So often had he thought of this dwelling as a tomb, and to this poor young thing it seemed a palace. Perhaps he was right in thinking that it was not too late to spare David from the callousness he was bound to develop if left alone.

"Do you want something to eat David?"

David turned from his revelry with a gleam in his eye, "Oh yes, Monsieur."

In the kitchen Erik found something he thought the boy would like. There was some bread and cheese, and some chicken in the icebox. No wine, he decided; too young. Instead he found a clean glass, no easy feat, and poured the boy some exotic juice he'd found in the market. A mix of pineapples and papayas he had surely never had before, if he had even heard of such fruits. As sullen as he had become and as much as he likened himself to a body waiting to die, he still had a taste for the expensive. Before returning, he decided to pour himself a glass as well.

From the look on David's face when Erik put the meal before him he had most likely been expecting mealy cheese and water. This was a feast! Forgetting manners he tore into the food, ravenously eating like a wild animal. Erik drank from his own glass and watched David try to get more food into his mouth than on the carpet.

It seemed a long time since the boy had eaten, he thought grimly. Well, he was safe now, and fed.

But for how long?

How long would this child stay with him? He hadn't thought of that before; he'd been too caught up in the moment of being caught up in a moment. Suddenly, a feeling of guilt began to gnaw. To give the boy such kindness now, only to have the possibility that it was only for one night? He stared into his glass, letting the thoughts collect as David happily gorged himself.

David, cheerfully unaware of Erik's inner struggle, wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He raised the glass of juice in a silent toast to his savior and took a sip. His eyes widened, "What is this monsieur?" he asked in wonder.

Erik shook his head of the dark thoughts that had settled on him, "It's a drink made from different exotic fruits. Do you like it?"

"It's the most wonderful thing I've ever had in my life!" He drained the cup quickly and set it down again.

"Careful, don'' choke now." warned Erik

David sat back in his chair, letting the feast settle in his stomach. The euphoria of a full stomach settled into brain and washed him with a warm contentedness he couldn't remember feeling in a long while. Glancing at his surroundings, he suddenly became aware that he had not been entirely polite to his benefactor. Manners were something he'd had smashed into his head long ago, but he found them useless on his own. However, this seemed as good a time as any to brush up on them. "You have a lovely home." He said with carefully picked words,

Erik laughed at his calculated politeness, "Thank you, it serves its purpose."

David looked away shyly and swung his legs back and forth under the table, looking around again at everything he saw in detail. It was all so fascinating.

They sat that way for some time, Erik lost in his own thoughts, till finally he broke the silence. "David, if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you some things."

David looked at him a little wary at first but then said, "All right. It's only fair."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes. I have no family."

"Why is that?" Erik asked carefully.

"I was born with no one. I was left on the steps of a church when I was born; St. Augustine's. I grew up in the orphanage there till I was ten."

"How old are you now?" Asked Erik

"I'm eleven." David replied simply.

Not far from his original estimation, Erik thought. "Why did you run away?"

David looked a bit shocked at the assumption, especially because it was right. But then he supposed it was quite obvious that he had not been turned free by the ones in charge at age ten. He acknowledged the question with a simple answer, "I didn't like it there."

Erik probed him deeper, "What was it that you didn't like?"

David fidgeted a little, "It smelled funny from all the incense" He offered at first, "And I didn't like going to mass on Sundays. It was boring and I couldn't understand what they were saying in Latin. It was cold in the rooms and we had to sleep together to keep warm. And when we wouldn't do what we were told we'd be beaten."

Erik stiffened, "Who hit you?"

"Mostly the novices, but they were forced to! The ones in charge said they had to learn to give punishment to save my soul."

Erik's stomach twisted. This was abominable. "Why wouldn't you do what they asked in the first place?"

David fidgeted a little more, "Because they didn't ask me nicely."

Erik decided not to probe anymore, he'd had quite enough. "How did you live so long on the streets?"

"I begged mostly. People gave me money because they felt sorry for me. Then I learned how to turn cartwheels, and I used to sing sometimes."

"Sing?" Erik remarked intrigued, "What would you sing?"

"Folk songs mostly. But sometimes I would sing something I made up."

"Really? You made up your own songs?" Erik's interested grew.

"Yes, I didn't have any music with me so I would just make up songs as I thought of them." David admitted proudly. "When I found the violin I thought that if I could play and sing at the same time people would like me better and I could make more money. Maybe even travel the world, away from Paris."

Erik paused a moment, then leaned forward in his chair, "David, can I ask you something else? Something very important, that you must give careful thought to?"

David nodded eagerly

"Would you like to live here, and make this your home?"

The boy said nothing for a moment, however Erik soon saw his eyes started to fill with a few stray tears. They flowed down his face and he wiped them away with his sleeve, embarrassed.

Erik was shocked, "David what is it? It was only a suggestion, you don't have to stay here if you don't wish it."

David said quietly, "I would like to very much."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I'm very happy. No one has ever been this kind to me."

Erik had never had to deal with a crying child in his own home, and felt very awkward to say the least. But at the same time he felt inclined to comfort David. "There now don't' cry," he said standing up from his chair, "you'll live here and you'll be safe I promise you."

The boy impulsively got up from his chair and ran to Erik with a great hug. And to his own surprise Erik hugged the boy in return.

"Now, don't you steal my purse again" he said sternly.

David smiled at him, "I promise."

Now separated David look inquisitively up at his face. "Now may I ask you a question monsieur?"

Erik tensed. 'He's going to ask about the mask,' he thought nervously. 'What should I tell him? I can't show him. It will scare him to death.' David was waiting patiently for an answer, "What is it?"

David looked shyly at the ground, "Since I'm going to live here now, and you're going to take care of me, I was, I was wondering, whether it would...if I could..."

"What, is it? You can tell me," replied Erik, his own heart pounding with anticipation, "I won't be angry."

"I was wondering if I could call you Papa." He said hopefully.

Erik didn't know what to say, he felt tears welling up in his own eyes. Papa. He never thought that in a million years anyone would call him that. To have a child, he never thought it could be possible. But here was a child, one of his very own, that he could raise and love, and teach.

"Yes, David," he said with strained breath, "I would like that very much."

He hugged the boy again, this time not as an orphan, but as his own son.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Erik resolved with all his might to be the perfect father. The first thing to do was get rid of every vice in his house. Every pipe, every bit of opium, the needles and most of the cheaper liquors all sank to the bottom of the subterranean lake. He even got rid of his coffin in favor of a proper bed. His house was no longer to be a living shrine to death.

He felt a renewed interest in life; David's as well as his own. He'd done many experiments in his life, but never one so complex and exciting. David would be his greatest experiment.

And of course David must have an education, but he didn't trust the Parisian schools. He said they would fill his head with nonsense and such useless trivia it would all be a pointless venture. But secretly, he did not feel strong enough to field the questions that would no doubt come his way in sending David above. 'Papa, why do you never see me off to school?' 'Why can't the other children come to visit?' Selfish as it seemed, he was dead set against it. His son must never be embarrassed of him.

Instead he taught David himself. He taught him better than any school could have because he had something they didn't; the experience of decades living as no other man in the world. All he knew he passed on to his son. David took to this knowledge like a duck to water. He was a bright child, and very, very eager to please his father.

As the weeks turned into months, Erik knew that he would have to earn money somehow; he needed to support two people, and not just by the skin of his teeth either. The savings for himself alone would not do anymore. He sent up a note to the managers, stating he was back from a long overdue vacation, and that all agreements in the lease where heretofore reinstated.

Both managers had panic attacks when they received the letter, for they thought he truly was a ghost now; coming back from beyond the grave. It is because of this that they obeyed his orders without question and kept the whole affair to themselves for fear of being called mad.

With that money securely in his possession, he began to lavish it on his only son. He brought home the most exquisite toys for him. As he grew older he brought him rare books, telescopes for use at the top of the Opera House, microscopes, clothing, and stationary, anything he could possibly think of to make him happy. Despite all this spoiling, David remained the most appreciative and humble of people. His father's happiness meant the world to him.

One day Erik came home with the best present of all. It was David's birthday and Erik had hinted that morning that there would be a surprise. David's real birthday was unknown so they celebrated the day that Erik had first offered to share his home with him. For the past two years Erik had tried to give something on that special day to delight the boy more than his usual array of gifts. That evening he arrived at supper with a medium sized black box. Handing it to David he announced with a smile, "Happy Birthday David."

David took the present excitedly, "What is it?"

He removed the blue ribbon and opened the box. For a moment he simply stared in awe. Inside was a shining violin. "Oh Papa," he said staring at the instrument in the black velvet lined case, "it's beautiful."

While David examined the treasure Erik spoke up, "It's a Stradivarius, the best I could find. I haven't forgotten that it was a violin that brought us together, and if I remember correctly you wanted to play one once. I'll teach you if you'd still like to learn."

David's eyes lit up. "Oh papa, I'd like nothing more!"

"Fine then," Erik replied with a proud smile, "we'll start now."

"Yes papa, right now!" David took up the bow, "I want to be as good as you someday!"

"What makes you think I'm any good?" inquired his father.

"Well, if you play the violin as well as the piano, the flute, the organ, and everything else in this house, you must be a genius with violin. Besides, I know you wouldn't have volunteered to teach me if you didn't want me to know every thing you know."

Such an astute boy. "Enough now," ordered Erik, becoming at once the stern teacher. He still took his music seriously, and that was the most important thing of all he wished to pass on to his son. "Let's begin...start by putting your bow here and your fingers here…"

With Erik's teaching David soon became a skilled musician. Fortunately for the teacher, it seemed as though his pupil had been born with the talent, making his job all the easier.

Soon, David was composing his own pieces for violin, and in a few years time playing his father's own complex pieces. It was an extraordinary rate of accomplishment. David would always premier his newer works for violin for his father, and always nervously. Erik's approval could make or break a piece in David's mind.

At times like these, with David playing his heart out, Erik would sit back in his chair and stare in awe at his son. His protégé! Intelligent, musical, happy, even good looking, although he was certain he had nothing to do with _that_, he thought wryly.

David was growing into a handsome young man. Though Erik had tried his best to fatten him up he was of thin build and tall, thankfully without being an awkward mess of arms and legs. He was rather fluid and graceful in his movements, truth be told.

But it was his face that was his true beauty. David's black hair was soft and fell little curls on his forehead, his face was perfectly smooth, and his lit up his face and the face of his father whenever he saw it. His eyes had grown a deeper green as he had aged; shining from beneath long dark lashes. 'He has my eyes', Erik would joke to himself.

As vain as it was, and though he had nothing to do with it, David's looks were a source of pride to him. And perhaps it was better that he'd had not part in them anyway; he might not have turned out as splendid. He was sure to break hearts.

But that thought, which usually brought immense paternal satisfaction to most, did not sit so well with Erik. It forced him to think about things realistically. David was growing older now; he would be 18 on his next birthday. How long could he keep him down here with him? He felt selfish, and rightly so. It wasn't as though David had never been outside the house in the last seven years. He had been to the opera, sitting in box five and watching the performances with delight. He had even taken him on carriage rides through the bois. But he knew it was not the same.

The boy should go and see the world, and if that meant leaving him then he would have to face that reality some day. _But not yet, not so soon_. Perhaps if there was a way to give the boy some bit of freedom, while still keeping him close by?

He watched his son reach the end of his piece and a plan began to form in his mind. All that talent shouldn't go to waste. The Opera orchestra, he thought. He was more than qualified, and with a few choice words to the managers it would be no problem. Oh how proud he would be to sit in his box and know that his son was down there making beautiful music. And he had taught him!

Just like Christine. The idea stung him suddenly. It was a sobering thought, but not altogether untrue. He decided he wouldn't force David into it. He had learned his lesson harshly not to live his own dreams of fame through others.

When the piece was finished, and Erik had given a standing ovation, he introduced his notion to the sweating musician.

David was thrilled at the idea. "Oh papa, do you really think I could do it?"

"I have every confidence. Erik encouraged.

"All right then, I'll do it!"

After selecting a song to audition with Erik left David on his own to practice. He figured he should wait and see what the managers really thought of his son before he sent any sort of persuasion their way. He felt positive it wouldn't be necessary but those managers had been known to pass by obvious talent before.

Suddenly Erik thought of something he hadn't before. They were sure to ask him questions about his past and what could he tell them? Certainly not that he was the Opera Ghost's son! David himself knew nothing of his father's past. He never even asked to see what was beneath his mask, always figuring that it was something his father did not wish to talk about. It was as though it never bothered him and Erik had been eternally grateful for it. But eventually someone was going to ask a question David couldn't answer. Was he to tell his son to lie to the managers and the entire staff of the opera? In a situation like this, how could he not? He tilted his head to the room where David sat practicing his song. 'I can't let the fact that I raised him hinder his chances at greatness.' Erik resolved, 'I must tell him to hide his identity. I'm sure he'll understand.'

David was a little suspicious as to why he should have to lie about who he was, but his father assured him it was for the most important reasons that he should do so. Not wishing to displease his father he reluctantly agreed to go along with it.

The day he was to audition, he was nervous as he'd ever been. His father had filled his head with nothing but confidence, but this was different from anything he had ever done. Other people frightened him, and to be judged by them made his stomach ache. Sitting in the wings for his turn he practiced the breathing exercises his father had taught him to calm down. They worked a bit, but once his name was called he felt all the butterflies come back to him. Stepping out onto the stage he clenched his beautiful violin in his hand tightly. When he was asked what his name was he replied, "David Claudin." He would have to get used to the name for it would be his from now on.

Erik watched intently from box five with all a parent's nervousness. He knew that he should have left David to do it on his own, but he just couldn't resist watching. David Claudin was not a bad name; he had picked it out himself. Erik wished he'd had a family name to pass along, but after all these years of being known as just Erik, or Opera Ghost, or 'hey you, monster!', he'd all but forgotten his old self and the name passed on to him from his own father. This new name suited his son much better; he only hoped no one probed him too deeply about his family life.

David announced he would be playing an original piece of his and the director of the opera along with the conductor gave a brief nod. There was nothing left to say. He just silently prayed for a moment, then raised the violin to his chin and positioned the bow.

He let the catgut glide along the strings, releasing the music within the instrument. The violin became alive in his hand as he played his own song. Such a sad melody, written about a time before he knew what happiness was, before he'd ever known his father's love. He breathed heavily, the music was crescendoing into despair, when suddenly he changed moods, and here came the joy and happiness! The years of torment and loneliness were lifted away by the fast sprightly scales. The music whirled around the auditorium wrapping everyone in its power. People began to come into the auditorium to see where the heavenly notes were coming from. Finally, when it seemed the pure joy would make everyone's hearts burst, the song was over.

David, panting, looked out onto the crowd of people that had gathered. They all had tears in their eyes and almost all had euphoric looks on their faces. He looked over at the managers and without a word one of them stood up and started to clap. This broke the spell and the whole place was echoing with applause. David breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

Up in box five Erik himself was breathing heavily, and his heart was beaming with pride. He'd have no trouble being in the orchestra, he wouldn't be surprised if he was immediately made first chair violin! But the song was what had touched him. The others may have liked it, but only he and the composer could derive the meaning between those notes. And he didn't think he could feel anymore love for his son then he did at that moment. Silently he slipped away while the applause was still fresh. He should get back to the house and await David's triumphant arrival.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

In the house once more Erik took out a book from the bookshelf and attempted to read, but his mind was too full to concentrate. He still couldn't get over the wonder that was raising a child. The way all those people had marveled at him, (and with just cause!), he was partly responsible for that.

He had noticed that some of the members of the crowd were young ladies of the opera. The way they had looked at him hadn't escaped Erik's notice. They found him as handsome as they did talented, and rightly so. But something about that unnerved Erik just a little. It wasn't that he was jealous, it was far too late for him, but he felt worried for his son in an almost _maternal_ way. He would be tempted by all those little ballet rats and God knew where they had been! Years of being both father and mother had finally taken their toll, he thought. All he could do wase Year hope that David had enough common sense to know what was best. He had tried to teach him, though that he wasn't the prime example of taking the straight and narrow, but he wanted more for his son than he had ever had.

The door flew opened and welcomely interrupted his hennish fretting. David crashed through the living room nearly tripping over a footstool in the process, "Papa! Papa!" He yelled with excitement, "Papa, it went magnificently! I played through with no mistakes and then papa, then a crowd of people gathered and they all applauded! Each and every one of them clapped so loudly I thought the chandelier would shatter! And then the manager hired me right on the spot. I say manager because the other one was weeping in his seat and couldn't rise to speak to me! He was actually weeping papa!" David flopped into a chair exhausted by his exuberance.

"I never had a doubt in my mind! When do you start?"

"They want me right away, for their production of 'The Magic Flute!'"

"Well then, I must make sure to attend that performance, and every other one after that." He rose from his seat and laid two hands on his son's shoulders, "My son, oh my son, you have no idea how proud I am of you!"

"Oh papa, I could never have done it without you! I owe you everything!"

"Give yourself some credit boy! I could only do so much, it is you who've gotten yourself this far."

"Papa, this is a dram dream come true. And think! This is only the beginning!" the boy turned and ran to his room closing the door behind him; no doubt to lay on his bed and dream of the fame and fortune that is such a popular fantasy for the young.

"Yes." Eric thought alone once more, "It is only the beginning."

For almost a year their life remained the same, much to Erik's happiness.

David wowed audiences and patrons with his sublime talent, and Erik proudly attended every concert, every opera, every symphony in secret, proud as could be. They both couldn't have asked for anything more. But it was all rather bitter sweet for Erik, who knew better than most that nothing can last forever. Someday, things would have to change, but what he couldn't have guessed was how.

It started out innocently enough; Erik arrived home from shopping to find a letter slipped under his door. This immediately set off warning bells in his head. Who could have made their way across the lake to give him this? He still had some of the traps set. More importantly, who could have found their way down there in the first place? Putting down the groceries, he picked up the small envelope and opened it. His heart nearly stopped dead when he saw the handwriting. It was unmistakable. And if he had any doubts they were soon quelled when he read the note.

_Erik,_

_Much time has passed between us. I come to you now only to find the house empty and locked. There was talk that you had died, but a part of me can't bring myself to believe such a thing. I hope I am wrong, for I have something to tell you, and I fear that if I cannot it will consume me. Only now am at liberty to tell you what it is._

_Please meet me in the last pew of Notre Dame at 11:30 tonight, after the parishioners are all gone. I feel that is the rightful place to make my confession to you._

_I implore please heed my words and tell no one._

_I pray that you get this. If you do not come, I shall take it to mean that you are truly dead; whether in body, or simply to me. I know you do not owe me anything, but I hope that you will come, for your own sake. I will explain why tonight._

_-Christine_

Erik was at a loss for words. He was certain that he was dead at the moment, for all the life seemed to drain out of him. After all these years, Christine had written requesting to see him. There was a time when he would have jumped at such news, but now after all the work he had done trying to forget her he felt angry and betrayed.

Why? Why now? Why at all? He threw the paper down with disgust. She was right about one thing; he certainly did not owe her anything!

He sat in his armchair but quickly rose again, finding himself too agitated to sit. He began to pace like he had in his younger days, filled with fire and brimstone.

It had been almost twenty years since he last saw her, and even then it had seemed more like a dream. Up until now he had thought it was. Only in a fevered fantasy could she ever have caressed him the way she did.

He paused his pacing, and lapsed into a memory. Christine had left him after a kiss. She had left him after she told her to go with her lover and leave him to die. After that he had slipped into a horrible fever, brought on by an overdose of opium to help him numb the pain. The Daroga had even stood by his side, thinking he was as good as dead.

The Daroga. He had been there but had never made any mention of Christine. Not even when Erik had miraculously pulled back from the brink of death and was on the mend, he never once mentioned her coming. For years he had taken his silence to be an indication that it was just a hallucination; he had just accepted it. On the off chance that it was true, he had had his old friend publish a sentence telling of his death in the newspaper. He did it for the one slight chance that she had been there, and that she could be at peace that he would never bother her again and she need not carry the fear he would come to claim anything.

Even now he could not know for sure, the last certain vision he had was of her back running through the door of his house, and the splash of the oars as her and the Vicomte and rowed away. She was so eager to escape, and he couldn't blame her. He'd been a madman, an insufferable tyrant who had nearly smothered her to death with restraint.

He bent to pick up the note once more. He read it through, more calmly now, thinking of how she might have looked writing it on the banks of the lake.

_I know you do not owe me anything, but I hope that you will come, for your own sake. I will explain why tonight._

Unbelievable, after saying she wouldn't blame him for not coming if he still lived she still wrote as though she knew he would come.

And what was this secret she spoke of? He had to sit down again. Rubbing his temples he tried to think. She said she was at liberty now to tell him a secret. Why so cryptic? It must be large if she wished to see him at Notre Dame. What could be that big? God, what would she look like? What would she think of him? He shook his head. He mustn't think that way. It couldn't possibly be she was going to come back to him after all these years. It was impossible.

He tucked the note into his pocket and found himself looking at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was a long time away from 11:00. Damn her! She was right in knowing he would come. He sighed.

David was not at home, and probably would not return till after that evening's performance. Erik sank into his chair. He suddenly felt very alone.

He reached the cathedral at 11:30 on the dot. Slipping through the front doors he scanned the church and saw the back of her head bowed in the last pew. Silently he walked up the aisle towards her. His heart started race.

As he grew closer she turned her head and looked right at him. He stopped dead in his tracks and, uncharacteristically, did not know what to do. She got up and crossed the space that remained between them with a sure step. "I knew you would come." She said in a soft voice. She gestured to the pew she had been sitting in and he silently seated himself.

He studied her closely as she sat. She was much older now, late thirties, he reasoned. He saw a few wrinkles by her eyes, and the tiniest gray hair just peeking through. More than that she seemed worn, as if she had been through much in the past decade or so.

"You are not afraid?" He said finally after a long silence.

She bowed her head, "I was, at first. But can you honestly blame me?" She put the question to him very matter-of-factly and he could not contradict her. "But no, I am not afraid now." She looked up at him, "You've not changed. You're still the same after all this time."

He wanted to tell her how wrong she was, how much he had changed, but he kept silent. It was not his place to speak. This was her idea.

"Christine, the letter, what is it you have to tell me?" he asked more abruptly than he meant to.

She bowed her head again. "It's a very large secret and I do not blame you for being put out. But I couldn't bear to hold it in any longer. Twenty years and I could tell no one about it. But now I can." She looked at him willfully. "Now I can tell you everything."

"Why, Christine? Why now?"

"Raoul is dead." She said simply.

Erik was taken aback. The shock of the news, coupled with her frankness, was more than a little overwhelming. What could he say to such a thing except the first words that seemed appropriate?

"I'm sorry."

Christine smiled tightly, "You needn't be so formal. I am fully aware of how you must think on him." She looked forward and gazed at the last burning candles, "It's been a month since he died; heart failure. All the pressures of his life just built up one day and..." She choked on her words and brought a hand to her mouth, betraying the first hint of her grief.

Erik wanted so much to touch her at that moment, but restrained himself. She looked up at him after composing herself and cleared her throat. "But it's because he's dead I can tell you my secret. It involves you too."

"Me?" He replied. This all seemed like a very strange dream. The dim light and the smell of burning incense only heightened the experience.

Without looking at him she continued on. "Do you remember the night I came to you when I thought you were dying?"

Erik winced. Then it was true, all the things he had half remembered in a fog. He really thought he would die that night. And then she'd come in and sat by his bed while the Daroga looked on. When he'd left she'd kissed him and told him she loved him. Then of her own free will she'd-

"Yes, I remember." He admitted thickly.

Christine blushed faintly. In the dim light it made her seem to glow. "That night changed my life Erik. Raoul and I were married shortly after, as you've guessed. Soon I found out that I was going to have a baby. We were both as excited as could be, until the physician came to the house to perform an examination. He told us, as gently as possible mind you, that I was three months pregnant." She turned her face up to him and spoke to him as fully as she could with the mask between them. "Raoul and I had only been married for one month."

The full weight of her statement struck Erik harder than any fist. His brow began to sweat and his breath quickened. "Christine, what are you saying?" he rasped, almost unwilling to believe her.

The look in her eyes changed to one of hurt, "Erik, you know very well what I mean. It was yours. The baby was yours."

Time stopped. Her words echoed in his brain and against the walls of the church until the saints seemed to be repeating it back to him; taunting.

"_The baby was yours, the baby was yours"_

"Oh Erik, I wanted to tell you." Her poise was astounding as she shed the information that had burdened her for decades. "I wanted so much to tell you but I thought you were dead! I always hoped that you had survived but I had no way of knowing. Even if I could have known he would never have let me. The minute he found out it wasn't his he wanted to kill it."

"Christine, no!" his outburst was so loud that Christine quickly hushed him, for fear that they would draw attention to themselves as something other than parishioners.

"Don't worry, he didn't." she quickly assured him, "He would have been condemned by society and the church for doing that, and I told him I would never keep quiet. He relented, but insisted that the child would not rest beneath his roof. So, he waited till the baby was born, and when it was a servant took it away. I never saw it again." Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered the acute pain that only a mother who has lost a child can ever feel. She bent her head and let them fall onto her lap quietly.

While Christine relived old heartbreak, Erik sat next to her, feeling like the world was whizzing by him at lightning speed. Anger rose inside of him, the likes of which he hadn't felt in ages. How he hated Raoul at that moment. How he wished he wasn't dead so that he could kill him for what he'd done to their child.

"Do you hate me for what I've done?" she asked, bringing him out of his murderous fantasy.

He looked at her small form. The tone of her voice was like a mournful dove and he knew that despite their past, he could never hate her; certainly not for this.

He laid his long tapered hand on her small delicate one in a sign of forgiveness. She grasped it tightly, looking to draw strength from its power. They sat for a moment in silence, listening to the faint sound of wind outside the stained glass windows.

"Christine, the child – was it…" he couldn't bare to finish the sentence, but it was plain to see. Was it like him? Was it spoiled, unholy? Had he infected another life through no fault of its own?

Christine raised her head and squeezed his hand tighter, "No Erik." She said, marking his relief. "Perfect, and so beautiful, I remember that much. Such large eyes, and a full head of hair too! Black like yours. And when he cried, it was almost as beautiful as when you used to sing."

"He." Erik sat back. A son; he had fathered a son. "And you never knew what became of him?"

"Well, I do now. When Raoul died I went to the servants and asked each of them if they knew who had been responsible for taking the baby. It was only for Raoul's sake I had kept quiet at all, but without him I cared very little for my own reputation. I had to know for my own sanity.

Finally I found her. An old thing now, she remembered every detail. Raoul asked her to dispose of the baby but she hadn't the heart to leave it in the streets. Instead she left it on the steps of a church, hoping they would take it in. When asked, she simply told Raoul that the child had been taken care of and would bother him no more."

A sense of intuition crept its way up Erik's spine and a thought began to spread in his mind. "What church exactly?" he inquired carefully.

"St. Augustine's," she replied, "not far from where we lived. Imagine, he was so close in that church and I never knew. I haven't bothered to go. What would be the point after all these years? They probably wouldn't even remember him."

Erik heard nothing after St. Augustine's. There was nothing else in the world at the moment but the truth that enveloped him, threatening to smother him. There wasn't any other explanation; there was no room for even coincidence. David, his David, was his real child. He had to be; his and Christine's child together.

He should have felt happy, he should have been elated, but he wasn't. He felt his anger from before well up anew, but this time it had no focus. It was a blinding rage. He stood up abruptly, scaring Christine.

"Erik! What is it?" She asked frightened at his sudden shift in moods. It was not unlike twenty years ago and she did not like it one bit.

Erik stumbled around the pews and gripped them. "What's the matter with you?" she asked again, getting out of his way.

He barely heard her through the roaring in his ears. He ran as fast as he could down the aisle, out the doors, down the street and he didn't stop until he reached the entrance to the underground house.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

His mind was still spinning. He must have looked like a madman but he didn't care. He rushed into the house where David sat reading.

"Papa?" he asked bewildered by his father's sudden appearance. Noticing his panicked state David dropped his book, "Where have you been, what's happened to you?" He rose from his chair.

"Leave me alone. Leave me..." Erik sputtered

"But Papa, I have something to tell you."

"Not now damnit! Leave me!" He ran to his room and slammed the door.

A picture fell from the wall and shattered, and David was left speechless. He walked to the picture and tried to pick up the pieces but he was too troubled. He couldn't' ignore what had happened. His father had never ever in his whole life raised his voice to him. It worried him so. He stared at his father's closed bedroom door, afraid to knock but afraid to leave him alone in there. He didn't' know what to do.

Erik paced angrily in his room, every so often pausing to hurl an object at the wall. Now he could put a face and a reason to his anger.

Christine had truly come to him that night. She came of her own free will and choice; she had truly loved him. Perhaps only for a brief moment, but one none the less; that night was proof.

The product of that night had been tossed aside like trash into the streets of Paris, and if not for a chance meeting Erik and David might never have known of the other's existence. In his fury he fulminated on how he had been denied happiness twice over by the Vicomte. Rational thought did not enter his mind at the moment, and suddenly his own fault in the drama had been forgotten.

His only consolation was that he had been able to raise David from as young as he did. Raoul could never take that away from him!

David, what was he to do about David? He'd yelled at his only son, his true and only son! He would make it up to him somehow, but more importantly, what should he tell him of his mother. If he told the truth then David would know all his father was, how he had killed, and extorted, taken drugs, the list was endless. Could he risk it?

On the other hand, how could he lie to him now that he knew the truth? And how could he lie to Christine, who'd been heartbroken since David was taken away from her. As much pain as she had caused him, he felt he owed her this.

He knew it was cowardice, but he had strived so long to rebuild what could be the last years of his life, he couldn't bear to rock the foundations. He couldn't disrupt the happiness David had played in his song before the Opera staff.

As far as David knew, he was an orphan and Erik was his adoptive father. He would never have cause to ask who his parents were, because he knew Erik wouldn't know the answer to such a question. Christine would never know, she had no idea Erik had adopted her stolen son.

He made his decision

David waited impatiently at the front door of the opera. It was growing dark and the setting sun gave the signal for the cold winds to start blowing. He pulled his cloak tighter around him and shivered, looking around again. Finally, spotted who he was looking for. He quickly rushed to her so infinitely happy that the cold winds could do no more harm.

"Roxanne!" He took her hands and kissed them both. "Thank goodness you're here."

Roxanne returned the smile, but when she looked closer she saw that David was not well. "Out with it, what's wrong?" She confronted him

"I can't hide anything from you can I?"

"Is it about your father? Did you tell him?"

"I tried to but he came into the house today so frantic, so upset. He yelled at me and locked himself in his room. I don't know what to do, I'm frightened for him."

Roxanne pulled a lock of hair from David's face and tried to comfort him, "That's not your fault, obviously something upset him but it has nothing to do with you."

"I just wish I knew what it was." He said taking her hand in his own.

"Don't worry, he adores you. He can't stay mad for long. Then you can tell him about us, and everything will be wonderful."

"You always know just what to say." Said David gratefully. He squeezed her hand and looked into her simple brown eyes. He felt his spine straighten and with resolve growing in his heart he said, "I'm not going to wait any longer to tell him. I'm going right now, and you're coming with me!" He grabbed her arm and started dragging her towards the entrance on the side of the opera that led to the cellars.

"Wait a minute, where are you going?"

"I'm taking you to meet my father." replied David stepping through the gate.

"Down there?" Roxanne asked surprised.

"Yes, you must trust me. I know it seems odd, but you have to come with me."

"Alright." Roxanne said hesitantly. She took David's hand and let her lead her to his father.

A knock on the door woke Erik from his slumber. It couldn't be David, he wouldn't have knocked. He rose from his bed and went to the door. Opening it cautiously he saw Christine standing there.

"Hello Erik."

"Christine! What are you doing here?"

"I had to talk to you." She said simply.

"You shouldn't have come here." He ushered her into the living room.

"Erik, I have to know what happened tonight. Why did you suddenly seem to go mad? Why did you leave me in the cathedral?"

Erik looked at the floor for a moment, thinking of a spectacular lie to tell her, but the legendary trickster could think of nothing. "Christine, I'm sorry for acting the way I did. You just caught me off guard."

Christine did not seem to accept that answer, "You were fine until I mentioned where the baby was left Erik, why is that?" she probed, "Please, tell me, help me to understand!"

She had him trapped he didn't know what he could say now.

Suddenly the front door swung open and David rushed in. Behind him was a young girl who looked afraid yet in awe of everything around her.

"Papa!" David cried. Suddenly he caught sight of Christine. He gave his father a strange look. "Papa, who is this?"

Erik looked at Christine who was staring at him wide eyed and slacked jawed. Clearing his throat he said, "Christine, this is our son, David."

It seemed time stopped for all of them. David stood stone still. He looked at the petite woman in front of him. He gave his father an imploring look.

Erik saw the look in his son's eyes, the look of confusion and almost betrayal. He looked at Christine who was looking at him with the same look in her eyes. Meanwhile the girl David had brought with him stared on in silence as if she dare not disturb what was unfolding before her.

David's breaths were coming in ragged gasps now. He felt a sweat break out on his forehead. "Papa, who is this?" He took a step towards them "What do you mean, 'our son'?"

Christine spoke, not taking her eyes off of David, "Yes, Erik, tell him. Tell him who I am, and who you are."

For once Erik was thankful for the mask that covered his face from the world. He could barely look at his son who stared at him now with such contempt. "David, this is your mother, your true mother, Christine."

David looked at her. His mother. So many questions swam through his mind. Why was she here? How did she find him? How did she know his father? But the only question he could get out was, "How could you?"

Christine was taken aback by the tone of voice. "David..."

"Is that even my real name? How could you? How could you leave me? I don't know you, you're not my mother." David was almost hysterical. Roxanne stepped out from the shadows and tried to put a calming hand on his arm, but he shrugged it away in anger.

"David, she is your mother." Said Erik, and swallowed before the final blow, "And I am your real father."

David's heart felt as if it had been pierced by an arrow. "What?"

"Yes it's true. You're our child, Christine's and mine."

"You knew! You knew and you didn't tell me! All my life I've wondered who my family was, where they were, and you've known and didn't tell me!"

Christine spoke up with tears in her eyes falling down her cheeks. "No David, no, we didn't know. We truly didn't." She got up from her chair and went towards him. She tried to take his hand but he pulled it out of her grasp quickly.

"No, I don't believe you, how can I believe you? You're a stranger to me!" Then fixing Erik with his coldest stare he said in a low guttural voice, "And I hate you most of all."

Now it was Erik's heart that felt pierced. He couldn't breathe. Those words hurt him more than anything he'd ever experienced in his life. He was left speechless.

David looked around at everyone, an almost mad look in his eye, and then bolted for the door and fled. He quickly untied the boat and rowed the boat as fast as he could to the opposite side of the lake. Once the boat touched the other side he bolted up and out of the opera and on to the street. It was raining when he emerged and he began to run.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

He stumbled through the rain blindly. He had to get away. He didn't know where he was going he just knew he had to put as much distance between himself and the horrors at the opera behind him. Finally he had to stop from sheer exhaustion. He doubled over, breathing heavily; his chest ached. He looked up at where he was. He couldn't believe it. He'd been running trying to escape his past and fate and led him right to it. He'd wandered right to the steps of St. Augustine's.

Back at the opera, Christine was frantic. "Erik, what do we do?"

But Erik still could not speak. He thought it had been bad to hear his mother say those words to him so many years ago, but this was much worse. David had actually loved him and now it was as he'd feared. Now he hated him and there was nothing he could do.

Christine began to lose control, Erik was in a state of shock and her son was out on the streets of Paris in a hysterical state. Roxanne stepped out of the doorway and took hold of her by the shoulders, "Calm down, just calm down." She said sternly.

Christine took two deep breaths, and focused on Roxanne, "Who are you?"

Roxanne, let go of Christine's arms and in an almost shy voice replied, "David's fiancée."

This brought Erik out of his stupor. He looked over at the girl, "Fiancée?" He breathed.

"Yes," she said extending her left hand. A medium stone shimmered on her slender finger, "David proposed yesterday, we came down here to tell you." Her voice dropped off.

Erik couldn't believe it. He stared intently at the girl, "Why haven't I seen you at performances?"

"I'm a costumer Monsieur, you wouldn't have seen me on stage." She replied simply. "I mended David's coat before a recital and…well…" she trailed off but there was really no need to explain what happened next, it was obvious.

Erik swam in a fog; Fiancée? He'd never even known he was in love. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"He was going to Monsieur he really was," She said coming closer to the broken man, trying very hard to put him at ease, "he didn't tell you before, because, well, he said that his past and family were a great secret. He thought you'd be angry if you knew that he was in love. So we kept it quiet. But when he asked me to marry him, he knew that he had to tell you. He thought once you saw how serious he was about me, that you'd understand and be...happy for him."

"Erik, we have to find him" Christine interrupted.

Erik nodded. He had to find him and set things right. "I think I know where he's gone, quickly, follow me!"

Timidly David crossed through the doors of the church. He sniffed the air, and memories came flooding back to him. He remembered how horrible he'd felt here, how alone. Up by the Alter hung the huge cross he remembered praying to as a boy. He walked up the aisle of the church, his footsteps echoing from the walls.

He sat in the first pew and looked up at the cross. When he was young he had secretly wondered if praying had done any good at all. Eventually he had just mouthed words, convinced that no one was listening.

In the peaceful quiet of the church his mind began to clear, and he started to think as much as his mind would allow. It was almost too much for him to think of at once. His whole life he'd wondered about his family. What orphan doesn't? He had loved Erik with all his heart, and he had loved his life, but this changed everything.

Erik had lied to him. He had known he was his real father, he had known his mother, he knew everything but he chose to hide it, like he hid his face beneath his mask. Oh, he knew there was some reason for the mask, but he had never dared to ask. He figured there must have been a good reason for him to hide his face from the world. But now that mask became a hated symbol. It symbolized deception, and lies.

He looked around him and felt as if he had never been away. Everything was exactly the same, churches rarely change. But the memories. How he'd hated it here. He'd hated everything about it, except the spot where he was right now. This was the one beauty he'd found in the whole massive place. He found that this spot was a comfort, he felt safe.

Before he had given up praying, he remembered sitting here during forced masses praying for a loving home, a family, someone to love him.

He tightened his grip on the polished wood of the pew. A sickening feeling crept over him. His prayers had been answered, long ago. He had a home, he had just met his family, his true family, and he had people who loved him, and he'd run away! He'd run away from all he'd ever wanted.

But the lies, the betrayal, how could he reconcile the two?

The woman, (his mother?), had said she hadn't known, and neither had his father. Could she have been telling the truth? Did it truly matter?

And then remembered that in the heat of his rage he had told his father that he hated him. The one person who'd loved him since he was a child without asking for anything in return. The sickening feeling changed quickly to urgency. He had to tell him he was sorry, he had to tell him he forgave him for lying to him. He'd do anything to make things back to the way they were!

He shot down the aisle of the church, opening the large wooden doors, and stepped out onto the stone steps. The rain had not let up but from across the street he could make out the shapes of people. It was them! Somehow they had found him. Overjoyed he bolted down the stairs and into the street towards them.

Erik's intuition had brought them to St. Augustine's. Somewhere deep inside he knew that's where his son had gone. As they rounded the corner he saw that he had been right. There was David, just stepping out of the church.

"Look there he is!" Christine cried! They saw him catch sight of them and bolt down the stairs. He had just run into the street carelessly and was making his way toward them not noticing the speeding carriage coming out of the fog towards him. Erik saw the carriage before anyone else. Completely on instinct he raced like lightning towards his son to push him out of harm's way.

The braying of the horse's and the screeching of the carriage wheels were dwarfed only by Christine and Roxanne's horrified screams. Then there was silence except the indifferent rain.


	8. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

"It's almost time!" David said nervously.

"Calm down, you'll tear your gloves, my love!" Roxanne chided him.

"I know I know, but it's just so important." He said looking impatiently at the stage.

"You know dear, there's really nothing to be worried about. Erik's been looking forward to this for quite some time." Christine said trying to comfort her son.

"That's right, he's more than ready!" said Roxanne with a smile.

"I know you're right. He has been looking forward to this for a long time," David said smiling proudly, "And it's finally here."

The three of them sat in box five. Tonight's concert would debut a fantastic violinist to Paris society. One never before heard in concert.

"I must say though, I do find it hard to believe the day is finally here when Erik will be playing at the opera." Christine said her worn mouth smiling.

The lights dimmed and the audience fell into a hush. Up in box five the three patrons held each other's hands and squeezed softly. The moment had finally arrived.

A solo spot light shone down on the stage, into it stepped the violinist. Without a word he raised the violin to his chin and began to play. And such music, played as music is never played; the original work of a genius.

Up in the box David looked around at the audience. All of their faces were either spellbound or in shock, as if they couldn't believe their ears. He knew they would be impressed. There was no question.

He looked back at the figure on stage and felt such pride for Erik, his son, named for his grandfather. His grandfather had saved his father's life by giving his own.

In those final hours Erik had confessed everything, every detail of his life that he'd kept hidden. David had listened intently to the incredible story his father told him and held tight to his hand as if he could prevent the inevitable. But finally the time came and his father slipped away into eternal sleep. The most important person in his life was gone.

In the first days after David became despondent. Wracked with guilt he wandered the underground house picking up objects, putting them down again, sitting for a few seconds then pacing the floors. Christine's words fell on deaf ears, and Roxanne's presence was all but a figment of his imagination.

It was the old violin that had shaken him. He found it in a trunk at the foot of his father's bed. It was still broken in two, yet he had not discarded it. He touched it tenderly and stood with new resolve. He couldn't let it end there. His father had allowed him to live so that he could have a second chance.

He married Roxanne and stayed on at the opera as their first violinist for a time. He taught music to boys whose families could not afford them, but he never charged a franc. He even gave them instruments on which to practice.

With Christine's money, the young couple did not have to work, but neither of them could imagine not being in the grand palace of music. Roxanne, however, did not stay a mere seamstress, but opened a shop creating fantastic theatrical costumes and masquerade apparel. Her specialty was masks.

David slowly came to accept Christine as his mother and over time to love her. He had asked her too all she knew about the man she once called her 'angel of music'. With a thousand stories in his head he had written it all down until one man's life, spanning decades was all there for all to see. The incredible story of his father's life would never be forgotten.

When his son was born, there was no question in anyone's minds what his name should be. David vowed that when little Erik was older he would give him the book he had written so that he would know his name sake and feel the same pride he did. By age eight there was no doubt that Erik had inherited the family talent. And now he was making his debut at the Paris Opera just as David had done at his age.

He glanced to his side and saw his wife was weeping silently. Tears of happiness, of hearing her son play so beautifully. She glowed with pride.

But perhaps the proudest expression was on Christine's face. Her still bright eyes held in them something secret that only her heart would ever know, but David knew that it had something to do with his father.

Finally he looked back to his son on stage. He didn't have to worry about his father's legacy dying out. From the sound of the heavenly music on stage he knew that it never would, and his own son was now the heir to the opera.

_**The End**_


End file.
